True Love
by A.Diamond
Summary: Merlin has been waiting his entire life to find his true love. And then, he does.


_Long ago, the story goes, there was magic and there was untrue love._

Somewhere in the world, Merlin's true love waited for him.

 _Anyone could learn to use magic, though some had a greater natural affinity. It was used for good and for ill, both to great effect._

Throughout his less than idyllic childhood, that was one of the few things that grounded him in hope and good cheer. Despite the father who died before Merlin was born, despite the struggles of his working-class single mum, despite the constant torment over being poor and awkward and funny-looking and bent as a butcher's hook: he was destined for someone. He would love and be loved.

 _Love, too, hurt just as deeply as it could heal. People lied about their love, used false affection against those stumbling about in search of something true. They found a newer, deeper love and abandoned the old._

It didn't overwhelm his thoughts night and day, but ever since he'd been a boy, there had been a certain amount of distraction and daydreaming on the subject. What would his true love be like? What was his favourite colour, ice cream flavour, movie, superhero? Was he Merlin's age, or younger, or older? When would they meet?

 _No one knows who cast the spell. One day there was magic and untrue love. The next, there was no magic but true love._

Despite a new, and often disgustingly sappy, scenario for the first time he recognised his true love running through Merlin's head on a daily basis, he never bothered with any of the websites or registries or meetup groups. He would meet his soulmate exactly when he was supposed to, that was how it worked. No one could change that, or hurry it along, no matter how much anyone tried. Merlin wasn't worried. He believed in the magic.

 _No one can actively touch the magic anymore, but it touches everyone, just once, at birth—with the brand of true love._

As Merlin grew, many of his peers, those who hadn't met their true loves yet, started dating and kissing and more. Some called it practice, others justified that it could be decades before their destined meeting. Even though those relationships were relaxed, limited by the knowledge that they were fated to end, Merlin couldn't bring himself to join them. He could wait.

 _No more lies, no more uncertainty. The magic of true love._

Then came the moment when he knew he had been right to trust. When Merlin first saw him, there was no instantaneous recognition or sense of rightness. There was just a bloke, a bit older than Merlin's seventeen, with golden hair and a suit jacket slung over one shoulder. Merlin took a moment to appreciate his fitness, evident through the dress shirt stretched across his back, and the cocky smile directed at one of his mates, and then he passed by the group on his way to the bookstore.

 _Every brand is unique in appearance, but they all contain the same thing: a name. The name._

He had barely made it five steps from them when it happened. It wasn't anything like any of his daydreams, but it was still just as wonderful a moment of realization as he'd always imagined. One of the friends shoved at the boy's shoulder, complaining, "You're a prat, Pendragon," at the same time as another called from just ahead, "Oi, Arthur, have a look at this!" And Merlin knew.

 _The world still has its problems, but this—love—is solved. Everyone has a true love. Everyone meets their true love. Everyone lives happily ever after._

He spun in an instant, running the short distance back to the golden boy—to Arthur. He ignored the confused looks of the other boys who saw his approach and pulled at Arthur's shoulder, prompting him to turn around to look at Merlin. His eyes, startled but quickly shifting to annoyed, were blue.

 _Because here's the thing—_

Flushed with excitement, he shoved his sleeve past his elbow to display the dark crimson name stained into the soft flesh of his inner forearm. It was larger than any of his friends', any he'd ever seen, proudly claiming all the skin from the start of his wrist to the crook of his arm with bold, thick lettering: **ARTHUR PENDRAGON**.

 _The brand on your wrist tells you, and the whole world, the name of your one true love._

An odd look crossed Arthur's face as he took in the brand, then glanced uneasily at at his group of friends. Merlin's neck started to itch with nervous energy, already regretting his brash act; this sort of thing was usually done in private. Was Arthur disappointed with him? He wasn't much to look at, with his big ears and frankly goofy face, and yeah, he'd pretty clearly demonstrated his lack of refinement, but he'd just been too thrilled to keep it in. Or maybe Arthur wasn't out to his mates? It would be a little ridiculous, Merlin wasn't exactly a girl's name, but maybe he'd kept it hidden. One never knew with those posh types.

 _They're the one person who makes you whole, the one your heart is destined to belong to for the rest of your life._

Still looking a little uncomfortable, Arthur nevertheless smiled awkwardly back at him and slowly started to roll up his own sleeve. His movements were precise, and Merlin might even have called them delicate if there hadn't been something unmistakably restrained in the care taken to fold evenly and avoid wrinkles. Finished, he turned his brand out to face Merlin.

 _And it's supposed to mean_

Merlin felt his exuberant grin fall away.

 _—_ _that the person you belong to_

—"I'm really sorry, mate. I don't know what to tell you."

 _—_ _—_ _belongs to you, too._

— _—_ Soft, flowery blue. Dainty cursive letters. _Guinevere Smith_.


End file.
